(No music this time.  I have M*A*S*H on in the background.  It seems fitting.)

The wife had surgery recently.  The doctor said it was a routine deal.  The wife had a cyst, likely benign, on her ovary.  We had known about it for a while, but due to certain circumstances, we decided to have it taken care of.  The surgery had been scheduled for a few weeks, but we really didn’t say or talk much about it.  I don’t know if we didn’t think we needed to or just didn’t take the time to do it, but that’s what happened.  Sure, we had discussed the procedure, what it would entail, but it was a logistical conversation.  Even the day before, we didn’t say much about it except for making sure plans were made for childcare.

Then the day of, about 10am, I walked into our room and I said, “I think it has just hit me that you’re having surgery today.”  She said, “Me too.”  We finally talked about the emotional side of it.  It’s kind of scary.  I know there are routine surgeries, but still, it’s surgery.  Call it routine all you want, but she was going to be under general anesthetic, intubated, and cut into.  That’s not routine and we both knew it.

In sickness and in health.  Those words are just part of the vows I took when I got married.  They might be the most overlooked.  Lots of people focus on the “for richer, for poorer” part.  The wife and I do.  We spend a lot of our time working, making money, and budgeting, but it’s strange how we don’t spend a lot of time talking about health.  Now that I think about it, I didn’t fully understood the seriousness of the vows I took.  Sure, I knew what I was saying, I knew what it meant, and I knew I meant it; but is it really possible to understand until you’re in a position of not having health?

Surgery made me think and it wasn’t all good.  When they wheeled her to the OR as I walked to the waiting room, it really hit home.  She’s having surgery.  I began to worry.  My mind began to wander.  You hear about people who go into surgery for something simple and bad things happen.  I don’t know if that makes me a pessimist, or a realist, or lacking in faith, or normal…I just don’t know.  My mind was racing.  That’s my wife, the love of my life.  We have two kids.  Kids take everything to a whole new level.  It’s different when it’s just the two of us, but throw the kids in there, and that’s…I just kept telling myself this is routine.  She had great doctors, great nurses, and this was routine.

What put me at ease was knowing everyone was so nonchalant about what was going on.  The surgeon told us how she was going to get a cheeseburger before surgery and what errands she was going to run afterwards.  I immediately thought, “That would be crazy to have a schedule that looked like, 1. Get something to eat, 2. Cut someone open, 3. Go to the grocery store.”  She said, “Yeah, I do this all the time.”  The nurses were talking about what music they were going to listen to in the OR, like they were going to be working in their garage; putting a new radiator in a car or something.  They asked what music the wife wanted to hear before they knocked her out.  She chose “Purple Rain” by Prince.  The wife was calm too.  The anesthesiologist’s name was Matt and the wife kept calling him Matt Damon because she thought he sounded and looked like him.  It gave everyone a chuckle.  He just laughed it off.  Even though I was nervous, those things gave me peace.  If everyone else was calm about it, I could be too.

Due to our Faith, the wife and I always tell each other that we’re not in control.  I thought about that a lot when I was in the waiting room.  We aren’t in control and in a strange way, that’s comforting.  I don’t have to worry, and usually, I don’t; but, when it’s right in front of your face, it’s different.  Either way, I must have been comforted by not being in control, because I drifted off.

About an hour later I woke to the voice of the surgeon.  She said, “The wife will be just fine.  She’s still on the table, but everything went as expected.  You can go back to sleep.”  You can go back to sleep?  It was then that I knew everything would be okay.

After another hour, the nurse came out and said, “Your wife really wants to see you.”  I couldn’t wait.  I walked into her recovery room.  She was a bit groggy and half asleep, but she managed to give me a smile and tell me she was doing well.  I asked her some questions to see if she’d give up any “secret information” in her goofy state.  No dice. We stayed in recovery for a few hours.  Whenever the wife dozed off, her oxygen levels would drop due to the drug cocktail.  She didn’t feel quite right, so we waited, and waited, and waited.

Finally, the drugs wore off.  Her oxygen levels were back to normal.  They discharged us and we headed home.  We talked about how amazing it was to be able to have surgery and be able to go home the same day.  We talked about how awesome Western medicine is.  We talked about the incredible skill of the doctors.  We even talked about Purple Rain.

I walked the wife in the door, put her on the couch, and went and got our girls from our friend’s house.  Littles couldn’t wait to see momma.  We walked in the door, gave hugs, and Littles said, “It’s good to have you home, momma.  I missed you so much!”  I couldn’t agree more.  Thank you, Jesus…in sickness and in health.